


Sweet Dreams (are made of this)

by amy_vic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-08
Updated: 2010-03-08
Packaged: 2017-10-07 19:51:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amy_vic/pseuds/amy_vic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's exhausted, but (as usual) he still can't sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Dreams (are made of this)

So, here's the thing: Dean? Has rarely gotten a full night's sleep since he was not-quite four and a half.

The reason is pretty simple, but don't ever let him know you know, because he'll deny it with every breath in his body.

See, Dean's sort of afraid of the dark.

No, wait, that's not quite right. It's not that Dean's afraid of the dark-except that he is, because he knows just what's out there-it's more like he doesn't like the awful, helpless feeling he gets right before he falls asleep.

It's just for a second, in that hazy place between sleep and awake, where he worries that something's going to come for him or Sam in the middle of the night, and Dean's scared he won't wake up in time to stop it. He's not in any big hurry to die (at least, not permanently, not again), but he knows for damn sure that he doesn't want to go out with one hell of a fight. And you can't fight if you're mostly-asleep.

He can't help it; every single time he gets to the threshold of that really deep sleep, some little noise, or just a gut feeling, will wake him up. It doesn't matter if it's the crappy bathroom faucet dripping twice, or Sam shifting over onto his side and muttering something (usually in Latin, which is probably why he doesn't spend the full night with too many women; at least with Jess, he could brush it off as old legal terms), but even the tiniest little noise will have Dean sitting bolt upright in bed, scanning the room and then doing two full walk-arounds of the motel room (including the bathroom, and a quick check on the Impala through the window) before re-engaging the safety on the pistol and lying back down.

He's kept a knife under his pillow since he was 12 and stopped sharing a bed with Sam (because Sam _kicks_; Dad finally gave in after the fourth night Dean slept in a chair, and started getting a queen and two singles in the motel rooms), and before that he was okay enough to trust that Dad would protect them, if something managed to cross all the salt lines and sigils carved in doorframes.

But now, with Dad gone and all those souls from Hell--

"Dean, shut up. Close your eyes and go to sleep."

"The fuck? I didn't say anything, Sam!" Dean automatically chucks his extra pillow in the direction of Sam's head, because he can actually _hear_ that bitchface.

"I know." Sam's voice gets a little quieter, and Dean wishes he had an extra _extra_ pillow to hurl, because Sam is *thisclose* to breaking the 'no chick flick moments' rule they've had established for years. Dean fumbles around on the mattress for a second and comes up with a balled-up dirty sock. Good enough. "Your aim sucks, Dean; that missed me by, like, two feet. And I can still hear your brain ticking. Go to sleep, okay? Everything's fine."

Dean takes a breath, smells salt, and shifts his hand to touch silver before he says anything.

"...yeah. G'night, Sammy."


End file.
